


Teaspoon Vindication

by rosequartzstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Malfoy Manor, Oneshot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shell Cottage (Harry Potter), obviously there is a reference to the emotional range of a teaspoon, rff 2020, romione, romione fic fest 2020, romione oneshot, ron and hermione talk about malfoy manor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: After escaping Malfoy Manor, Ron comes to visit Hermione in her room at Shell Cottage, and does the one thing that may be the hardest for him— talking about his feelings. (Romione oneshot)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	Teaspoon Vindication

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Romione Ficlet Fest 2020 on Tumblr, for the prompts "Shell Cottage" and "Hermione admits she was wrong". :)
> 
> You can find the original here: https://romioneficfest.tumblr.com/post/618487577209683968/teaspoon-vindication

_Knock, knock._

The slightest sound had made Hermione flinch ever since she'd escaped the manor, but now, when this soft rap came on the door, she was too sunken in her bedsheets to pay much attention to it. But the sound of the doorhinges as they were nudged open was enough to rouse her, though she didn't turn to face whoever had come into the room. The door clicked closed again.

"How are you feeling?" asked Ron, and she felt a weight press down on the bed by her back, which was still turned to him. She didn't answer. He didn't seem to mind. "That's okay," he continued softly, "we don't have to talk, but could you please eat something? You've hardly touched anything since we got here —Merlin knows I don't blame you—, but it might be good if you could… You know… Anyway, I brought you some soup."

And now Hermione heard it: the clinking of metal against ceramic, as Ron swirled the soup around in its bowl so as to entice her. She had to admit it was working: the smell of chicken broth was now wafting pleasantly toward her nose, and only then did her stomach rumble as if to beg her to _please, sit up and eat something._

She obeyed.

Ron beamed as she slowly sat up in bed and turned around to face him. "Mornin', sunshine," he said jokingly through a lopsided grin, and she gave him a faltering smile as she accepted the bowl he had brought her. He watched her eat in silence for a few moments, giving her a respectful berth of silence until he could hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl, at which point he no longer could contain himself: "Are you okay?"

Her eyes immediately flooded with tears, and his heart sank. But she wiped them away and sat up a bit straighter, placing the empty bowl on the nightstand beside her. Silence hung over them for a moment, and Ron's mind was racing a thousand miles an hour: _Blimey, I've done it, I've ruined all of it, way to go, Ron, she's never going to talk to you again—_

"I thought I was going to die," said Hermione meekly, yanking Ron from his thoughts. "There were moments… I thought I wasn't going to make it out. I thought that was going to be the end of me. And the pain— oh, Ron," she sighed, and buried her face in her hands, dissolving into weeping. Ron hastily placed an arm around her shoulders, as he'd grown accustomed to doing since the end of sixth year, and pulled her closer to him as sobs racked her body. "I've never felt anything like it. It was like I was being pulled apart, limb by limb, and all I could do was scream. And then the cutting—" she said, and made a shifting movement that made Ron think she was pulling her sleeve over the ' _MUDBLOOD_ ' so cruelly carved upon her skin. He felt a surge of anger swell up in his chest, and drew her to him more fiercely, as if showing an absent Bellatrix how safe she was now, how he would protect her, how he couldn't harm her anymore…

"I— I heard you screaming, you know," said Hermione, once again breaking the silence and putting the lid on Ron's thoughts, which were threatening to bubble over like many a dreadful potion he'd whipped up in Snape's class. "I heard every word. I heard you calling my name…"

Ron didn't know whether to feel abashed, but he didn't need to say anything, because she continued: "It pulled me through, you know? It sounds silly," she chuckled dryly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, "but it was tethering, in a sense. It kept me grounded. It kept me from thinking about never seeing you again—"

She choked up, the end of her sentence seized in her throat as her chest started heaving with sobs again. Ron hugged her tighter, but he kept running his mind over her words: 'never seeing _you_ again'… Did that you mean he and Harry? A general _you_? Or did it maybe, _maybe_ , mean she was scared of not seeing _him_ , specifically, again? For the third time, Hermione's soft murmur dissolved Ron's thoughts as they built up in his mind: "What were you feeling?"

"'Scuse me?"

"You know, when you… when you were calling for me," she said, blushing. "What were you feeling?"

Ron was floored: he didn't usually give much thought to his own emotions, and to have Hermione, of all people, ask him about it… Much to his surprise, the words seemed to pour out of their own accord: "I felt anger. So much anger, I was boiling over. They had you there and there was nothing I could do about it, and I was angry at them, and I was angry at myself, because there was nothing I could do to help you. I felt desperation: there was nothing I wanted more than to just run up those stairs and get them off of you— hell, maybe even take out a few of them if I could," he smiled humorlessly. "I felt like ripping my hair out, I felt like I could've torn off those bars from the cellar door just to get up there to you. And I was crying, Hermione, and my throat was raw and my cheeks were burning, because I was just so frantic to stop your screaming, to get to you— and I felt, well, I felt like if you died, nothing was ever going to be okay again." He finished his tirade, took a deep breath, and realized the corners of his eyes stung with tears. "If you'd died, Hermione… I didn't know— I don't know if I could've—"

She said nothing, but merely draped an arm across his stomach and nestled in closer to him, her head supported by his body, feeling his chest heave and his heart pound with the strength of his emotion. Silence, again, settled over them, as they both breathed in each other's arms, comforting each other with just their presence and their warmth. Finally, Hermione spoke again.

"You know, Ron, I think I was wrong about you." His heart dropped: what had he said wrong? What could she be thinking about him? _Way to go, Ronald, you've blown it again_ , he chastised himself as he turned to her— and was surprised to see her beaming up at him. "A teaspoon's got nothing on you."


End file.
